


i dare you

by taylortot



Category: Original Work
Genre: Confessions, F/M, Kissing, Original Character(s), Truth or Dare, a little bit of UST, but no one is supposed to know, copious amounts of silliness, nessa is a princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylortot/pseuds/taylortot
Summary: nessa and oliver get a little drunk while rained in at an inn and play a little game
Relationships: Nessa/Oliver
Comments: 33
Kudos: 108





	i dare you

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING ORIGINAL IN YEARS i can't believe I did this in one sitting. I am going to die of embarrassment. Thank you to my darling friend @/roseylaces on twitter for the prompt. I hope that this is silly enough for you! <3

The mainroom of the large roadside inn is overpacked with many travelers seeking dry shelter from the rain. It’s been coming down for three days now, gray and wet and cold, but Nessa is warm. The wine has made her blood and belly hot, and the cloak she’s got tucked around her shoulders like a blanket keeps the heat close like a friend. 

She’s grateful that Reina finally let her leave their room, unconcerned that she’d be recognized by anyone now that the militia has moved through the area, come and gone. It’s nice to be around people again. Well, one person in particular.

Oliver sits across from her on a cushion of his own, the fireplace glowing behind him, in this dark, secluded little corner of the inn. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, his midnight eyes bright as a moon, laughter lingering in the corners of his lovely mouth, as his fingers curl around hers while their thumbs are at war. He has an unfair advantage--his hands are bigger than hers--but he has also had more to drink than her, making him slower and less focused.

Still, she groans when he successfully pins her thumb, again, and his answering smile is wide and dazzling. He smiles so easily, it sometimes takes her by surprise, even in easy moments. “My victory!” he declares, still holding her thumb hostage as she struggles to reclaim it.

She wrinkles her nose at him. “Ugh, fine! You win.”

“Truth or dare?” he asks, since he’s won the right, releasing her thumb at last.

“Truth,” she says immediately, as she’s said every other time he’s won. 

He rolls his eyes playfully at her, something she doesn’t think he’d do if he was sober. She likes to see him like this though. It feels honest to her, boyish, a glimpse of the person he’d be if there weren’t restraints or restrictions. “Coward,” he teases.

“ _ Truth _ .” She enunciates the word harshly, her belly fluttering.

“Are you afraid I’ll make you do something you don’t want to do?” he asks as she watches their thumbs fumble and avoid each other, wrenching her elbow outward to try and get an advantage on him.

“Is that the truth you want?” she presses without looking up at him.

He thinks for a moment and slips his thumb away from another one of her failed attempts to pin him. “Yes.”

She’s glad for the wine. Glad for the heat in the room. Glad for the distant, gentle chatter of the other guests that fill the silences between them. Her skin is already flushed, rosy at the apples of her cheeks. She won’t be accused of blushing as long as she can keep her tone even. “Then, no.”

Oliver’s gaze is searching, but she’s still not looking at him. “No, what?”

“No, I trust you not to make me do something I’d dislike,” she explains, voice perfectly balanced, swinging her elbow inward now, without success. It  _ is _ a truth. She does trust him, completely. For all of the rules of society--of the court--he is uncomplicated and genuine, and thoughtful to a fault. Even without their friendship to rely on, she knows he would never dare her to do something she wouldn’t want to do. That’s not what scares her.

He pins her thumb again, with a frustrating amount of ease. “Truth or dare?”

She glares at him. “Truth.”

She’s afraid he’ll dare her to do something she’ll  _ like _ .

He sighs and tips his head to the side, looking down at their hands, still joined. “Are you even having any fun?” 

Her heart gives a quick flutter of panic. She goes completely still, letting herself feel the way his thumb over hers feels like a thumbprint in the pit of her stomach. “Yes,” she answers quickly, hoping to snuff out the idea that he has upset or bored her into unwilling compliance. “I...I really am!” A little flustered, she tucks a lock of her short hair back behind an ear. “It’s--you know I’m not used to--”

“You promise?” he asks, his gaze sliding up to her face lazily, raising one eyebrow in question.

Again, she’s grateful he can’t see the way he makes her nervous as her cheeks grow warmer. “Yes. I promise.”

He stares at her for a moment longer before he accepts that, letting her thumb go free only to pin it down again immediately after. “Prove it. Truth or dare?”

“That’s not fair!” she shouts at him, smacking at his wrist with her free hand, voice made loud by her outrage and the wine.

The way he laughs at her changes everything. She’s heard him laugh before, of course she has. He laughs at her a lot! But there’s something about this moment, the way he tosses his head back, how his hair falls over his forehead, the way that he draws attention to them shamelessly, unafraid of consequence--this moment, lit by the fire, flickering in the dark, makes her want to be brave. It makes her want to break rules and be selfish. Utterly and indulgently selfish.

“Dare,” she tells him.

He grins, so irresistibly charming that Nessa finds herself grinning back.

“I dare you....” he trails off dramatically.

This time, it’s her turn to roll her eyes at him with a scoff. Her shoulders are locked tight, the anticipation a bright pearl caught in her throat. 

He laughs again at her reaction, and it pleases her that he seems to enjoy her company as much as she enjoys his. “I dare you to finish your cup of wine,” he finishes simply, gesturing at her cup, which is still half full. 

“That’s all?” She can’t help her reaction, is practically mortified to find that she has deflated a bit, surprised by the tame challenge.

Amusement is still so present in his expression, though there’s a little bit of fascination there, too, like he is still discovering things about her that he didn’t know. “I could get more creative, if you’d like.”

Without another word, she reaches for the cup and puts it to her lips, fearing the sly tone of his voice a little too much. The wine burns on it’s way down, dark and hot, buzzing loud in her veins, and it’s only her desire to impress him that keeps her from choking on it. Once she’s drained it all, she slams the cup back down on the ground beside them and looks up to see him grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“You,” he says, “are divine.”

“Shut up!” she laughs, the sweetness of the wine sticking to all the crevices in her mouth. “You’ll have to explain to Reina why I’m drunk later. Look forward to that!”

He doesn’t seem the least bit worried about it, as their thumbs go back to wrestling at each other. Nessa feels less concerned with...well, with everything, now. The tension in her muscles seeps away, the cloak sliding off one shoulder, taking the strap of her dress with it to expose more of her skin. She feels it go, glancing quickly up from the thumb war to steal a look at Oliver’s face.

He must feel her gaze, because he flickers his eyes up towards her, too, and then--as she’d hoped--his focus slides quickly to her naked shoulder and she almost violently wrenches her elbow to the side again, pinning Oliver’s thumb beneath hers for the first time that night.

“Ha!” she cries out triumphantly, pressing down against his thumb with more force than necessary. “I win!”

He looks startled for a moment, both eyebrows arched. “Did you do that on purpose?”

She feels the heat of his question bloom in her face, but keeps her composure with grace. “Uh-uh, I’ll ask the questions here! Truth or dare?”

His answering chuckle is incredulous. “Dare.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” 

She ignores him, scanning the room for possible challenges. She is determined to come up with something appropriate for his level of shamelessness but the wine is making her head a little fuzzy and all she can think about is the dare she wishes he’d given her. She wants to forget wanting that, so she pushes herself to think on something that he’d never ask her to do. 

She leans in, fixing her attention back on Oliver. “Do you see that man at the corner of the bar?” 

She watches him look. “The one with the droopy hat?”

“Yes. I dare you to propose to him.” She barely has the words out of her mouth before she’s giggling, slapping a hand over her mouth so that the sound doesn’t carry.

He looks unperturbed--he has all the confidence in the world with men, and she’s noticed it before. “Marriage? Or--”

“Take your pick!” she says quickly, embarrassed.

He gives her a lopsided smile and lets go of her hand, rising up to his feet. She watches, delightfully captivated, as he walks up to the man in the corner and gets down on one knee without a single word. The laughter is torn from her throat like a gust of wind, throwing itself out into the room with reckless abandon. She is laughing so hard she can’t even hear him say anything, and she knows she’s drawing attention to herself, but she can’t seem to stop, only laughing harder when the droopy-hat man frowns down at Oliver in confusion.

She’s in tears when he returns.

“He said no,” Oliver announces happily as he settles back into the cushion across from her.

She snickers into her hands, and she’s trying to get a grip, but there is the wine to consider, and the fact that she is having more fun right now than she’s ever had in her whole life. Has she ever laughed this much? Probably not, no. Silly, is probably the right word for her glee, and probably for the way Oliver accepted her terms without batting an eye. 

The mirth is still rolling through her when she suddenly feels a hand touching the stray strap of her dress tentatively. It quiets her. She opens her eyes to look up at Oliver, whose gaze is fixed decidedly on that strap. The weight of his fingertips settles low in her belly. Her breath turns shallow, and she goes very still, as he slides the strap back up to sit right on her shoulder and then tucks the cloak back around her snugly. Is he sitting closer to her than before? Is she dizzy because of him or because of the wine? The room suddenly feels a lot warmer than before.

“You’re--” she cringes as her voice breaks. “You’re crazy.”

He grins. “That was hardly the craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. Though his touch is long gone, she can still feel the ghost of it against her flushed skin, feels it like a tattoo, golden and glowing. With a huff through her nose--a scoff of sorts, punctuated with a half-smile of her own--she sticks her hand out again. “Do you want to keep playing?”

He gives her a devious look. “Depends. Are you going to use more dirty tricks on me?”

“This is war,” she says, flustered, as if that’s enough explanation.

Oliver takes her hand, curls his fingers into hers deliberately. “Alright, Princess, do your worst.”

It’s less than a minute before he has her thumb pinned again.

Nessa swears. Loudly. A woman nearby gives her a nasty look.

“Truth or dare?” Oliver’s grin is wicked, self-satisfied. 

She feels like picking truth again would only result in him teasing her to death, but the look on his face is scaring her in ten different ways. “Dare,” she says firmly, through grit teeth, furrowing her eyebrows at him already.

“I dare you to give me a kiss,” he says and she thinks she could strangle him for being so nonchalant about it. This is it. The thing she wanted, and didn’t want to want. The challenge fills her with equal parts dread and exhilaration and she wonders if she is that transparent after all. If her longing is as obvious to him as it is to her. It claws at her, hissing in excitement, as her heart thuds painfully against her chest.

“Where?” she asks, managing to keep her expression neutral even though she feels as if she is shaking apart on the inside. As if all of her nerve endings are bursting with fireworks, even though she hasn’t even touched him yet. 

He simply shrugs, still wearing the airs of someone who either doesn’t care or doesn’t think she’ll follow through on it. 

She exhales a breath and shifts her hand inside of his, cupping his fingers gently. While they’d been in the capitol, there had been a number of times where he had paid his respects by kissing the back of her hand. It is an honor, a sign of dedication, of loyalty. Her hand has been kissed so many times she can’t possibly remember every pair of lips that touched it, but she remembers his. She wants him to remember hers, too.

Her heart slows its bruising pace as she turns his hand over gently and runs the pad of her thumb along the lines in his palm. Oliver has gone still beneath her--quiet, unmoving, so close and somehow very far away. She considers his hand for a moment, considers the way it burns when he touches her, considers his gentleness, and smooths her thumb again over his palm with reverence.

Slowly, as though she’s wary of scaring him off, as though he’s not the one who  _ asked _ for this--slowly, she lifts his palm, eyes fluttering to a close, and presses a warm, lingering kiss to the heel of his hand. She knows that he can feel her affection for him--she isn’t being subtle. She could have pecked him quick on the mouth or cheek and laughed it off. He would have accepted that. Might have found great joy in her poorly concealed embarrassment, in fact. 

She isn’t allowed to tell him how she feels, but...maybe she can have this, right now.

When she drops his hand, she gives his palm another slow swipe of her thumb, tender about it, and then takes a deep breath to ready herself for his reaction. She looks up and instantly, her heart is in her throat, violent and torrid and full of thrill. His gaze is dark, heavy, and all thoughts of silliness and laughter have fled and left her alone with her desire. She desires him. She wants to reach for his face and touch the scar that runs through his eyebrow, wants to put his hands on her hips and see what he’ll do with them. She doesn’t care that this may be the first and last time she is allowed to have this. Every inch of her feels sharp and glittering, alive in a way she’s never felt before, and she wants him to know.

Looking back down at their hands, threaded with longing and goaded by wine, she captures his thumb gently in her own hand. 

“Truth or dare?” she asks softly.

“Dare,” he murmurs, and his voice is low, unusually rough. Her belly clenches hotly.

“I dare you to give me a kiss,” she tells him slowly, a little shy, repeating his words exactly.

He slips his thumb from her grip and uses that hand to circle her wrist, leaning in close enough that she must look up at him. 

“Where?” he asks, the closest he’s ever been.

She looks at his mouth, before glancing back up at him. His breath touches her lips, hot and humid. The darkness of their corner seems darker with his shadow falling over her, and she’s more drunk on his proximity now, than the wine itself. Her blood feels rich and sweet in her veins, richer and sweeter than anything she’s ever tasted before. For a wavering moment, she feels as if she might die, if he does not kiss her.

“Take your pick,” she says.

She knows he asked, to make sure he didn’t cross any lines, and she knows he understands, now, that she wants whatever he will give her. His hand skims up her arm, up beneath the cloak, over the slope of her shoulder, until it rests against the warm crook of her neck. His other hand touches her jaw so gently that her eyes flutter, her breath turning uneven again. 

“Oliver,” she murmurs, and his name is so lovely in her mouth. “Please.”

“I know,” he whispers to her sweetly, indulgently. He thumbs at her lower lip, slow and deliberate, and then leans in.

His kiss is gentle and unhurried. He kisses her like he’s dreamt this up a thousand times and is afraid that this will just be another dream. To her, the realness is overwhelming. It’s a soft slide of his mouth against hers, a tender pressure that does not ask for or demand anything, and she takes it happily. He is almost timid; she did not know she could be more enamored by him, but she is. 

He leans back slightly, just enough to speak. “You okay?” he asks, and the scruff of his voice electrifies her.

“Never better,” she replies on a gust of a breath, reaching out with both hands to fasten onto the ends of his open jacket. “Do it again.” He hums--something inside of her flashes bright and startled and needy at the sound--and comes back to her, lips more giving than before. She feels her answering gasp more than she hears it, her mouth opening against his more than she meant and he takes a shuddering breath. He goes to pull away, maybe he means to check on her again, but she whispers “ _ Come back _ ,” and leans back into him with a desperation she’d always been so good at concealing, her fists tugging his jacket towards her now. 

He makes a starved sound at her eagerness, one of his hands slides up into her hair--and then there is nothing but his mouth and his teeth and his breath and the way he says her name like he’s praying at an altar to some higher power. She becomes reckless with desire, so lost to his hands and his lips that she doesn’t notice him scooting her deeper into the darkness of the corner, that she’s propped up only by the wall with Oliver kneeling between her legs, or that her hands have become more wild than his. 

Oliver is steady against her, his points of contact anchoring and sure--Nessa’s hands flutter; they go up his stomach, over his chest and shoulders, around his neck, down his arms. She can’t decide where she wants to touch him most, but she does know that her search is driving him wild, making his kisses messier and deeper. When he breaks away again to catch his breath, she dips her head down to taste the skin of his throat and shivers with her victory when he groans rough and broken and quiet with appreciation.

“Nessa,” he mutters, pulling away from her, putting a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her from chasing him this time. She blinks up at him through the haze in her head, her stomach thrilling ferociously at the hunger in his expression. She nearly swoons right into his arms, just like that. “I think that’s enough.”

The wall is cool against her back, which makes her realize she’d lost the cloak somewhere in their kiss and goosebumps sprout along her arms. “Sorry,” she says breathlessly, sheepishly, though she’s really not sorry at all, not even a little bit.

“This is not the time or the place,” he continues, briefly looking over his shoulder to see if they are being watched. They aren’t. But it would only be a matter of time if they kept going, and Nessa hates to imagine being caught red-handed when she’s promised many times she’d do the smart thing and keep Oliver firmly in the friendship category.

“I know,” she says, in perfect agreement and perfectly dismayed about it.

He looks at her for a long moment, studying her, and she lets him--his attention keeps her belly warm as her fluttering pulse attempts to settle down.

“You are so beautiful,” he says in a quiet voice. 

She immediately reaches up to touch the ends of her messy hair--one of her greatest sources of insecurity since it had to be cut all the way up to her chin--and feels her heart open up like a flower, straining towards him and his sunlight. 

“You know, this is why I only played truth,” she says softly, a little embarrassed, though a part of her feels sated by this intimacy between them. “I knew--when it comes to you--Oliver, I lose my mind around you. I can’t trust myself--”

“Say my name again,” he murmurs, cupping her jaw once more.

“Oliver.”

He kisses her chastely. 

“I like knowing that I have that effect on you,” he says afterwards, giving her a rueful, lopsided smile. “I wish I could tell you--I wish I could put it into words, how I feel. Just so you’d know.” Her stomach jumps and quivers at the fondness in his voice. “I loved seeing you laugh like that tonight. I’ll propose marriage to every droopy-hatted man in the world if you promise to laugh like that again.”

She laughs at the memory. “I promise to laugh if you do!”

He smiles wide and stands up, offering her his hand. “Come on. Let’s go back upstairs before I get in trouble for keeping you out too long.”

She takes it and stands, too, keeps his hand captive, brings his thumb to her mouth quickly and kisses the tip of it. “Truth or dare?” she asks.

He raises an eyebrow at her, suspicious. “Dare.”

Nessa grins. “I dare you to tell Reina you kissed me.”

Oliver tosses his head back and laughs.

  
  



End file.
